Movie Night
by Frerard Lovers
Summary: John talks Sherlock into a movie night. Sounds dull...well, maybe not... *SMUTTY JOHNLOCK*


"Come on, Sherlock. It's just one night," John pleaded to the man who was glaring at him. "I run through half of London with you chasing criminals and being chased by them. And I put up with your experiments and body parts in the fridge... And I never ask anything out of you. I just want to have _one_normal night, Sherlock. To watch movies and relax for once." Sherlock had not been amused when John had presented his idea for a "movie night", and by the looks of it, he still wasn't.

"Movies are dull," Sherlock replied, flopping down into his armchair, "They're predictable, and I always delete them as soon as they're over anyway. What's the point?"

John sighed loudly. "To _relax _and feel normal for once." He then looked up at the man and opened his eyes wide while pushing his bottom lip out the slightest. "Please, Sherlock? For me?"

For some reason, Sherlock could never resist John when he pulled that face. Groaning and throwing his back, he reluctantly nodded, not at all looking forward to the night to come.

John smiled happily. "Thank you Sherlock." He then knelt in front of the TV stand. "What do you wanna watch first? There's Star Wars, Forrest Gump... um... I've got season 5 of Criminal Minds, and all the seasons of The Big Bang Theory on DVD... Indiana Jones..."

"Makes no difference to me," Sherlock grumbled, "Whichever you want to watch. Except Big Bang Theory. I hate watching people who think they're smart, when really they're completely normal."

John rolled his eyes. "Forrest Gump it is then!" he said. It had to be his favorite movie ever. He slid the DVD in and then shut off the light before going to sit on the couch. He knew this was generally 'Sherlock's seat', but damn, sitting in that chair really hurt your back after a little while. He patted the spot next to him. "You gonna come sit?"

"If I must," Sherlock huffed, crossing his arms over his chest like a child being forced to do something he didn't want to do. He plopped himself down ungracefully next to John, and sat pouting watching the opening credits roll.

John snuck a glance at him and couldn't help but chuckle at how childish Sherlock was being. "Just stop, Sherlock, you're being over dramatic."

"No, I'm not," Sherlock growled, glaring at John, "How could you even suggest such a ludicrous idea?"

"Sherlock," John said, ignoring the start of the movie, "You're pouting like a toddler would do when he doesn't get his way. Really, there's no need to be. You might actually enjoy the movie if you tried."

"Fine," Sherlock said stubbornly. He then focused his attention on the movie, deciding to humor John just this once. On the screen was a seemingly slow man putting a feather in a Curious George book. _Dull_, he thought to himself, and, glancing at John to make sure he wasn't paying attention, leaned back and closed his eyes.

They hadn't been watching the movie long - they were just at the part where Forrest runs out of leg braces while Jenny is yelling at him to run - when John felt something leaning up against his shoulder. He looked down to find Sherlock had fallen asleep and was using John's shoulder as a pillow. He smiled at the sight of his peaceful face while sleeping.

Meanwhile, Sherlock was dreaming for the first time in months. In his dream, he and John had just solved a particularly difficult case. They were going out to dinner to celebrate, and were sitting next to each other in a booth. John was acting odd, not looking Sherlock in the eye. When Sherlock asked what was wrong, John just shook his head and looked the other way.

John suddenly became aware that Sherlock was muttering in his sleep, and that his name was mixed in there as well. He sounded worried and he wondered if he should wake him up or let him sleep. After all, it was rare that Sherlock Holmes slept.

Still in the same dream, Sherlock grabbed John's face and made him look at him. "Tell me what is the matter John," Sherlock said seriously.

"Sherlock," John said, looking at the ground, "I went to the doctor's today. They didn't have the best news..."

"What did they say?" Sherlock asked, panicking now.**  
****  
**"Stage IV cancer..." John responded.

In reality, John was freaking out. He quickly sat Sherlock up; the man had begun to cry and whimper. "Sherlock? Sherlock, what's wrong," he asked. "Are you okay? It was just a nightmare," he tried to calm the confused, now-awake man by rubbing his shoulder.

Sherlock grasped onto John's shirt, wanting to make sure he was real. _Why am I acting like this? _he thought, _I've never cared for anyone like this before. What's happening to me ?_He looked up at John, who was looking back with concerned eyes. _I couldn't possibly be falling for him?_

"Sherlock," John asked again when the man remained silent. "Are you okay? Did you want to talk about the dream?" he asked as he turned off the television and turned his body to face Sherlock's, tucking his leg under the other. It was dark outside, and the only source of light was coming from a light pole just outside the window.

Sherlock shook his head. "You'll think it's either stupid, or you'll be freaked out by my reaction," he whispered looking away from John. He didn't want to tell him about the dream, didn't want to admit he cared about anyone that much.

"Sherlock..." John murmured as he scooted closer to the detective. "You know you can tell me anything." The hand on his shoulder had slid down to cup his elbow and eventually on top of his hand on Sherlock's knee.

"Well, we were in a restaurant," Sherlock began, still not looking at John, "You were acting oddly, not looking at me. I asked you what was wrong, and eventually you told me. You-you said," he paused drawing in a shaky breath, "You said you had stage IV cancer."

John's eyebrows scrunched. "Cancer? I... No Sherlock. I'm right here, and I'm fine and healthy. I promise I'm not leaving, but..." his brows furrowed even further. "Why did it upset you so much? The thought of losing me? You were whimpering and saying my name over and over."

"I don't know," Sherlock said quietly, "You know I tend not to care about people much, I think of them as ordinary and replaceable. But John, I care about you. More than I've ever cared about anyone. I have no idea why, but you're different."

John felt he needed to comfort the detective, so he scooted even closer and wrapped his arms around Sherlock's slim body and realized that he'd never hugged the man before. He decided he liked it though. Sherlock was warm and fit perfectly in his arms.

Sherlock curled up into John's arms. He had not been held like this since he was a little boy, and he had forgotten how it felt. He had never felt need for human contact, but in John's arms, it just felt right.

"You smell good," John said without thinking. "Um... I mean..."

Sherlock chuckled softly and responded, "It's okay, John. You smell nice too."

John wiped away one lone tear on Sherlock's face with the pad of his thumb. "You really scared me for a moment there." He looked into Sherlock's eyes a little longer. "Do you wanna watch the rest of the movie or call it a night?" he asked. He was kind of hoping to finish the film because he wanted to see if Sherlock would stay wrapped up in his arms. He didn't really know why he enjoyed holding the detective, but he did. A lot.

Sherlock sighed, and responded, "Let's finish the movie. I'm not tried anyway." That was true enough, he was never tired, but that wasn't why he wanted to stay up. He liked the way John was 'comforting' him. He liked being held like this.

John turned his body back around to face the right way, untucking his legs from underneath them and stretching them out on the coffee table. He held his arms open and blushed, hoping Sherlock would take the invitation to lay on his lap.

Sherlock readily accepted, lying his head on John's lap, and closing his eyes once more. He still didn't understand why he was enjoying all this so much though...

John settled further into the couch and fixed his eyes on the TV. He absentmindedly began to run his fingers through Sherlock's hair.

He looked down at the man lying on him and bit his lip, thinking. He'd liked Sherlock Holmes for a long time. More than a straight man should, and he'd even begun to fantasize.

But why wouldn't he think about Sherlock, even if it was inappropriately. He was slim but buff, and his skin was pale white with the exception of his pink lips. His neck was long and slender and John just wanted to lean down and attach his lips to it.

He felt himself twitch and he hoped that the detective hadn't felt it._ No, John_, he thought to himself. _You are NOT going to get hard with him lying on your lap._

Sherlock sensed a slight movement behind his head, but decided to ignore it. Instead, he began contemplating his emotions, trying to unlock the puzzle in his own head.

He had cared about other people before. When he was young, his parents and Mycroft. Then he became acquaintances with Molly at Bart's, and took a liking to her. Then Mrs. Hudson became a second mother to him. But he could live without them, he could exist with no one but himself. Then John came waltzing in.

John didn't appear to be anything but another ordinary person at first. Then they started to solve cases together, and Sherlock realized he was anything but. John could read Sherlock like no one else, could put up with him and his insaneness, could even keep his addictions at bay sometimes. John was different. John was amazing.

_But what is the name of this emotion?_ Sherlock thought. A little voice in his head responded with, _Love._ At that thought, Sherlock's eyes shot open, to find John looking down at him.

"What's wrong?" John's eyes widened and he stopped twirling Sherlock's soft curls between his fingers. _Oh God._ he panicked. _I bet he felt me twitch. Shit._

"Nothing, nothing," Sherlock responded, looking away from the man above him, "I just realized something."

John be came even more worried. "You know you can talk to me about _anything_, Sherlock," he said as he realized it wasn't the first time he'd said this to the man today. "Is it about your dream?"

"No, no," Sherlock sighed closing his eyes, trying to decide whether or not to tell John. _What do I have to lose? It's not like he'll just abandon me. Worst comes to worst, he'll think I have my emotions confused._ He opened his eyes again and continued, "It's about how I feel about you. I think...I may love you."

John tightened his fingers that were still in Sherlock's hair and tugged upwards so the detective would get the idea that he wanted him to sit up, which he did so quickly. "Sherlock..." John leaned forward and brushed his lips lightly across the other man's.

Sherlock's heart skipped a beat at the brief contact, and he immediately wanted more. He wound a pale hand behind John's head, bringing him closer and crashing their lips together. They moved naturally in-sync, John doing most of the leading.

The blonde haired man sighed happily and licked Sherlock's bottom lip before sucking it into his mouth. The detective let out a whine and John took advantage of his parted lips to thrust his tongue into his warm, open mouth.

Sherlock gasped lightly at the feeling of John's tongue colliding with his own. Blood was already rushing south for him, despite the fact they had only just started kissing. God, if he knew that it could feel this good, he would've tried it a long time ago.

John's tongue explored Sherlock's mouth, gliding along his top teeth and tangling with the other man's. He couldn't help but let out a whimper at the taste and warmth of Sherlock. He placed a hand at the small of his back and forced him to come even closer.

Sherlock brought his hands down to John's jumper, and begun tugging at the bottom to get it off, tired of unnecessary clothing. John got the message, and they stopped kissing so Sherlock could pull it up and over John's head.

John dived back in, but instead of attaching his lips to Sherlock's, he placed them at the spot where his shoulder met his neck and sucked. His hands worked on unbuttoning that damned purple shirt that John loved so much.

Sherlock extended his arms from his sides to allow John to take his shirt off, eager to be rid of it. Meanwhile, John was still sucking and God, it felt _amazing _to Sherlock. He had never experienced anything like this before, and John was making his first time a damn good one.

John leaned back to look at the forming, red hickey and smiled before turning his attention to Sherlock's now-revealed chest. He ran a finger down the muscled chest and smirked when the man shuddered. "You're so beautiful," he murmured, his fingertips brushing over one pink nipple.

Sherlock moaned lightly before responding, "You're more beautiful," and raking his fingers down John's back, wanting more. He leaned in and placed his lips in the spot behind John's ear and started to suck gently.

A shaky moan escaped John's lips and he shuddered as a response. "Should we move this to the bedroom?" John asked as he thumbed the small nub of flesh.

"Yeah," Sherlock responded, "Mine is closer." He then got up from the couch, and grabbing John's hand, practically dragged them both to his room.

John pushed Sherlock down on the bed and straddled his waist, leaning down to whisper in his ear. "I've wanted you for so long," he said as he rocked his hips to push his growing erection into Sherlock's.

Sherlock groaned at the simulation on his hardened member. "Really?" he breathed, "Is that why I heard you moaning my name at night?"

John pulled back, a look of shock on his face. "What? You heard that?" his nails raking down Sherlock's chest and stomach, continuing to roll and grind his hips into the detective's.

"You weren't exactly being quiet," Sherlock replied, a smirk playing across his face, before he shuddered again in pleasure.

John blushed. "I couldn't help it. Sometimes my fantasies got out of hand," he said as he bit his lip.

Sherlock reached up to cup John's cheek. "It's okay, John," he whispered, "I don't mind. I'm rather flattered, actually." He softly chuckled at his last statement, then ran his hand down from John's face, down his torso, and stopping at the hem of his pants. He quickly popped the button, then undid the zipper. John lifted his hips and carelessly kicked them off and onto the floor and quickly decided to take his boxers off before he realized he would be completely naked.

"Go on then," Sherlock murmured, seeing John's indecision, "Take 'em off. I want to see you."

He did as he was told and sat back down on Sherlock's stomach this time, his balls coming in contact with Sherlock's bare skin. "It's y-your turn," he stammered, blushing.

Sherlock reached behind John to undo his belt, ripping it off in seconds. Then he swiftly unbuttoned them and brought the zipper down. He kicked them off, his underwear fortunately going down with them. His length sprang free from the confines of his pants, and stood erect against John's back.

"Sherlock," John sighed as he shuddered. "Lube..."

"Don't have any," Sherlock sighed, and brought a few fingers up to John's mouth, "So suck."

John did just that, drawing the digits into his mouth and twirling his tongue around them. Once he deemed them slick enough, he leaned back. "Do it, Sherlock," he whimpered. He was incredibly turned on needed this.

Sherlock brought his hand around to behind John, and carefully aligned one finger to the other man's entrance. He gently pushed the digit in to the first knuckle, and, after John relaxed, continued until the full finger was inside. He slowly began moving it in and out, imitating the actions he had seen in the gay porn he had watched as part of some research a while ago.

"Oh," John let out a chocked moan. It didn't hurt, but felt a little weird to have something inside him, but it was more arousing than anything. "More," he grunted.

Sherlock eased a second finger into John, being careful not to hurt the shorter man. Once it was all the way inside, he began to gently scissor, stretching John for what was to come.

After a few moments of this, John was sure he was ready for more. "Sherlock, I need you," he whispered, pushing down on the two fingers that were carefully stretching him.

"If you insist," Sherlock replied, lining up his cock with John's hole, "You wanna ride me? You wanna look at me while I fuck you?"

"God, Sherlock," John lowered himself down on Sherlock's cock. "I didn't realize you talked like a whore," he bit his lip.

"I'm not the one jerking off to his flatmate every night," Sherlock growled before throwing his head back and closing his eyes as John's tunnel wrapped around him. "So tight..." he whimpered, amazed by the feeling washing over him.

John carefully sunk down lower onto Sherlock's long, thick member, ignoring the stinging sensation. "Fuck," he said, though he wasn't entirely sure it it was out of pain or pleasure. "You're so big," he moaned, waiting to feel himself relax around his cock.

Sherlock simply groaned in response, not able to form a coherent response. He wanted more,_ needed_ more, of this wonderful feeling he was experiencing.

When John felt he was ready, he rolled his hips and gasped. He couldn't wait any longer. "Sherlock," he grunted. "Fuck me."

Sherlock thrust his hips gently, the small movement sending thrills through his body. He repeated the action again, and again, and again, picking up a little force each time.

John's mouth opened into an 'O' shape and he shifted around, wanting that sweet spot to be found. After a few moments and moving on top of the sweaty, panting man beneath him, he finally found that spot and he yelled. "Sherlock! Right there!"

Sherlock locked onto that angle, and rammed into the spot, earning a yelp from John. He kept on that spot, letting go of his self control and hitting it relentlessly, fast and hard.

"Ah!" John exclaimed. "Faster, Sherlock! Fuck me hard! Oh... Yes, right there." He wondered why they'd never done this before. "You're so big, Sherlock," he panted. "Feels so good..."

"You're so fucking tight," Sherlock moaned, "But you talk like such a little whore. Are you a slut, John? Do you dream about being fucked? Hmm? Are you my little slut, John?"

"Yes," John hissed. "I'm only yours. I fantasize about you all the time. I dream about you coming into my room and tying me to the bed. I think about you fucking me hard using my vibrator on me. I think about you all the time," he moaned.

"We may have to try that sometime," Sherlock whispered, more to himself than to John, then felt a tightening in his stomach and balls. He knew he must be getting close, and groaned, "God, John...so close..."

"Yeah... Yeah... T-touch me," John shuddered. He knew it wouldn't be long now.

Sherlock reached up with one long hand, and thumbed the tip of John's cock, gathering up the pre-cum then smearing it down the length. He started to stroke John in rhythm with his thrusts, bringing up his other hand to fondle John's balls.

John threw his head back and moaned. "Sh-Sherlock, I'm gonna-" he was cut off by a loud moan which he realized was his own as he came undone, his seed spilling on Sherlock. "Fuck," he groaned loudly.

John's walls clenched sporadically as he came, the sudden tightness sending Sherlock over the edge as well. "Oh my god, John!" he exclaimed, releasing inside the blond haired man. After a few more shallow thrusts, he pulled out weakly.

"Shower," John asked as he panted, still coming down from his high. He was sticky and had cum all over him.

"Definitely," Sherlock agreed before laughing gently. When he saw John's confused expression, he simply said, "Now, wasn't this a lot more exciting than movie night?"

John giggled a very unlike-John laugh and got up to stand by the bed, noticing Sherlock's eyes seemed transfixed on the ex-army doctor's thighs where the detective's semen had begun to slide down his legs. "Come on," he said, grabbing Sherlock's hand and dragging him to the bathroom.

Once they were in the bathroom, Sherlock turned the water on. Testing the temperature with his hand, he stepped in, pulling John in too. He turned to John so they were facing each other, and started kissing the shorter man gently.

"Sherlock..." John whispered against his lips. He enjoyed the way his slippery skin moved against John's. He leaned over and grabbed the body wash and a rag, pouring some of the soap onto the towelette before rubbing it along Sherlock's side.

Sherlock shivered gently at the feeling of John touching him, even though he had came only minutes before. He knew it wasn't normal to become aroused again right after sex, but then again, he had just lost his virginity, he was bound to be horny as hell.

John smirked when he was sure he felt something move against his thigh. "So," John ran the wash cloth along Sherlock's back as he spoke, "how are you feeling?"

"Good," Sherlock breathed, "Amazing actually. Sex is a lot better than I thought it would be."

"Mmm..." John smiled, his ego growing a tad. "That's good." His hands lowered on Sherlock's back and rubbed across the detectives firm ass. He decided he didn't like having the rag in the way and dropped it too the bottom of the shower, letting his bare hands massage Sherlock's slippery wet skin.

Sherlock moaned slightly when John's hands touched his sensitive ass, feeling his member hardening already. He knew John could feel it pressing into his thigh, and hoped he would do something about it.

John grinned, enjoying teasing his detective. His hand slid in between Sherlock's cheeks, just barely grazing his entrance. "Already?" he asked.

"Can't help it," Sherlock said, a smirk on his face, "You are incredibly arousing."

"Should I do something about it?" John asked, the tip of his finger finding its way into Sherlock's hole.

"Please do," Sherlock moaned, letting his head flop back and closing his eyes. Even though John's finger was barely inside of him, the intrusion felt amazing to him.

Without warning, John dropped to his knees and licked a long stripe up Sherlock's thigh, his finger still just barely in his lover. "Tell me what you want, Sherlock. Do you want me to suck you off?" he looked up at him with wide, innocent eyes.

"Please John," Sherlock groaned, "Suck me and finger fuck me, please. Make me cum again." He found it amazing how earlier this evening he had no interest in sex, but now he was begging for a second round.

John wrapped his lips around the head, holding Sherlock's hips with one hand to keep him from bucking while the other one went deeper inside his body. He hummed, causing vibrations to go up Sherlock's dick.

Sherlock gasped loudly, partly in slight pain from the finger inside him stretching him, but mostly from the feeling of John's mouth wrapping around his length. He knew that after tonight he would always be begging John to do these things to him.

John bobbed his head back and forth, his tongue moving along the bottom occasionally gathering the pre-cum that leaked from the tip and letting it slide down his throat. He ignored his gag reflex as he took Sherlock in further. John added another finger into Sherlock's tight entrance, searching for his prostate.

Sherlock's breathy moans turned into a pleasured yelp when John's fingers brushed that sweet spot inside him. He planted a hand on the side of the shower to support himself, and moaned out, "Th-there, John...God..."

John's mouth left Sherlock's length to bring one of his balls into his mouth while his finger repeatedly rubbed against his prostate. He felt himself twitch and tried not to become hard, though it proved to be a difficult task when Sherlock was whimpering and panting above him.

Sherlock could already feel the tightening starting in his stomach, and knew it wouldn't be long until he came for the second time that night. "J-John..." he moaned, "Close...again..."

John's mouth moved back to wrap his lips around the tip and flick his tongue across the tip repeatedly, his finger moving faster and hitting Sherlock's prostate harder. "Come for me," he murmured.

Sherlock gave as close to a nod as he could manage, and let out a strangled cry, shooting into John's mouth. It wasn't quite as intense as his last orgasm, but it was still one of the best feelings he had ever experienced.

John swallowed around him, not quite enjoying the taste, but it wasn't the worst. He kept bobbing his head and moving his finger, dragging Sherlock's orgasm as long as he could. When the detective was completely spent, he pulled back and stood up to wrap his arms around Sherlock.

"You were right, Sherlock." His lover gave him an Aren't-I-always? look. "That was way better than movie night."

**John's POV by Anna and Sherlock's POV by Casey**


End file.
